Still Need Title
by 16FallenDawn
Summary: Sorry guys, haven't got a summary yet, but here's the temporary low-down before I go and have time to make it sound pretty ; . It will be Mick/Beth in some parts, but primarily this is Mick dealing with a OC. Read inside for more info.:


Chapter One: Inheritance

The lightest tap at the door faltered after two subsequent knocks, almost in hesitation. It was so faint that any person otherwise-engaged might have missed it entirely; but naturally Mick heard it clear as day. At this brief point of silence, however, he decided to disregard it. His mind was elsewhere – filled with images of _her_… her smart little smile, her sparkling eyes, her skeptical expression…

He checked his phone again for new messages.

_This is pathetic_, Josef had remarked only the night before. _You're as bad as a damn female. _

Mick scoffed, remembering. Even so, he felt a stab of embarrassment in his chest – Josef was right (though he would never admit it to him). He couldn't get her out of his head. She had permeated nearly his every waking hour since he had reunited with her, 23 years since they had last met face to face. 23 years since she had seen him, but only 14 since he had glimpsed her – though she had often darted in and out of his thoughts long after he had distanced himself. After all, she had been a large part of his life for many years.

_More than she knows_, he thought. A flicker of change flitted in his emotions – was it… guilt? He glanced at his phone once more, attempting to clear his mind.

* * *

But he had been protecting her. He was the one, the unidentifiable source of comfort she had so earnestly tried to pin down for years after the kidnapping. Her "guardian angel," she'd called him. She used to draw pictures of her shadowed savior as a child, attempting to quickly capture those blurred features before they faded from memory entirely. Naturally, her childhood drawing skills were less-than-stellar, and the rough sketches of color provided no evidence to the identity of her mysterious protector whatsoever. She laughed to think of it now… yet she never ended the search for him, unconsciously scanning the flood of passersby on the streets of L.A. every day for the dark-haired, palor-skinned stranger of her childhood dreams. She never succeeded.

Of late, her thoughts of him had dwindled in frequency as her daily existence became more consuming; less and less often did she try to recall that face to mind, for the moment the countenance would sharpen to clarity, it would immediately retreat – returning to the darkened corners of long-past reminiscence.

Now, she only called _him_ to mind as a reminder of the inexplicable security she had continued to feel long after her kidnapping. It had been him. She knew it. She had never especially noticed it until it stopped, however, some time in her teenage years. It occurred to her one day that something was missing – _someone_ was gone.

He had stopped watching her.

And then, seeing those eyes peer down from the shadowed brim of a hat, head encircled by obnoxiously imposing rays of sunshine – she got that feeling again. Something about this guy was all too familiar. It wasn't until after their first meeting that she'd put two and two together… dark eyes, soft curls, complexion pale as though it hadn't seen a day of sun (yet there he stood, L.A. resident)…

But it couldn't be. He would have long out-aged her and this – St. John, was it? – wasn't a day over thirty.

It couldn't be.

Yet, no matter how fervently she restrained herself, the need-to-know tugged at the corners of her consciousness like a puppy on a slipper. Perhaps it was the reporter in her, but Beth couldn't get him out of her head.

She checked her phone again for new messages.

* * *

_Tap. Tap-Tap-Tap. TAP. _

Mick looked up, surprised to find that the knocks had continued. Apparently his visitor was unaware that he had a perfectly functioning and quite visible buzzer accessible just inches away from the region of their knocks. He shoved his phone in his pocket and rose from the stiff contemporary seat for the door. He sighed and tentatively ran a hand though his locks; he hadn't really wanted to see anyone today, but, like all days on which one wishes to encounter no one, it was only inexorable that he would meet the last person he would've wanted to see.

If only he had known just how true that statement would prove to be.

Just as he reached the door, a _Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!_ ricocheted loudly off the walls. _Guess they found the buzzer_, Mick thought to himself. He slid the door open just as his visitor was about to ring the buzzer again, cocking a brow at what he saw. Standing firmly before him was a young woman holding what appeared to be a fistful of documents, head framed by the hood of a dark colored jacket. She didn't notice him at first, absorbed in a paper of some sort – a map? – but the moment he cleared his throat she lurched to awareness, sending dark brown locks flying and the hood flopping off.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," Mick began. Though her stance was firm, he noted, her heart was beating a mile a minute. He attempted to get a look at her face, but at the moment she was consumed with promptly restoring the hood to its former position. Mick rolled his eyes mentally – he never _did_ appreciate that style on anyone. Then again, he still preferred attire that had gone out almost sixty years ago.

At last the girl straightened, exhaling and closing her eyes for a brief moment as though recalling something. With an anxious glance at one of the documents below, she spoke, sarcasm pervading what appeared to be a well-practiced introduction: "Congratulations. You've inherited me."


End file.
